City Planner

Not knowing what was expected of me I started undoing the buttons on Marion's shirt waiting for some kind of reaction. But there wasn't one. Erica's breathing was harder but that was only about her fingers which were flying now, her right leg was opened wide and slightly off the bed, a common manoeuvre for her; she was about ready. I expected the bucking, I expected her bony pelvis to start thrashing, for her head to turn to the side with her mouth opened wide echoing the guttural sounds of her climax — this part never lasted long; to her it was a lot more about intensity than duration.

And then it was over. Entirely. She was sitting up pulling the underwear out of her jeans and pulling them on, her jeans next, struggling, her back to us, then she turned, leaned down, forcefully kissed Marion on the lips then crawled across her to give me the same kiss. "Marion's car is at our place, you can take her to pick it up in the morning — come for breakfast ... not too soon." She lithely crawled off the bed. "I've got tons of work to do ... see you tomorrow."

We both watched her ass leave the room and listened to her open and close the front door. "Weird, eh?" I said and meaning it.

"She's a born student. I can remember those days; I was a lot like that — everything except studies was an irritant. She's got a lot on her plate."

I turned on my side and traced a finger above the top of the very sexy, very well-filled bra peeking out above her shirt. "So what? She gets me a woman to look after me?"

"I think that's part of it but certainly not all of it; I think there's a whole lot going on inside her head. It's going to be fun to discover what it's all about."

"Is she going to want you around long enough for you to do that?"

When she turned on her side and kissed me, my hand went under her shirt and I could feel the enticing heat of her skin. "I'm going to be around as long as you want me around, that's clear to me." She lay on her back. "We can take our time. Kiss me."

I was at the kitchen table on the Saturday morning, Erica was at the sink.

"Admiring my ass?" she said, not knowing Marion had just walked in.

"He is and with good reason," she laughed.

Erica smiled over her shoulder while Emma, our 4 year old, tried to open the cutlery drawer; Eric, 2, was on the floor in the corner laughing at his finger; Marion ll tried flicking a mobile attached to the side of her wheeled playpen.

We had planned to celebrate our 5th anniversary last night but we were all too tired. We watched television instead; my wife's head on my lap. I played with her breasts through a bra that might have been made out of spider webs, its was that gossamer; I watched her nipples grow until she turned, wrapped both arms around my waist and pressed her face into my belly. I raked my fingers through her hair like I used to with my dog. He purred, too. Marion was in the chair beside us doing a puzzle on her iPad.

It had been a Friday night like almost all of them: the kids asleep in their rooms, the adults recovering from their week.

Marion, in hiking gear, refilled my coffee cup then sat down beside me. We were going out for a 'power' walk, a fast two hour walk in the hills then she had to do the family shopping and I had to do some chores. Erica, as on every weekend, was fully dedicated to the kids, a resolution she made and honoured to make up for her AWOL from them during the week. I had a touch football game at 5 with the brothers which was getting harder to enjoy: my spirit was still into it; my body was starting to protest.

"Mom and dad want to come over for bridge tonight, OK?"

Marion reminded her. "Mike and I are going to the symphony, remember? Can they make it tomorrow?"

"Right, sure, I'll tell them ... have you decided?"

"I'm going to keep it."

I knew this would piss Erica off. She wheeled around from the sink clearly annoyed. "Why?"

"Mike and I talked about it last night ..."

"Ya, but I didn't."

"If you would come to bed with us you could have." She insists she must sleep alone; she hadn't slept all night with us since Marion appeared.

"I hate it when you go to that place ... at least rent the damn place out."

"It isn't always about you, Sweets, we know you have a hard time with that ..."

She wheeled around again. "And you have a hard time making a commitment."

Marion laughed derisively, it wasn't the smartest tact to take with Erica, and she knew it. And anyway, it made no sense. I laid down the law the first week Marion showed up: if she was serious about this relationship she would move her exquisite mattress from her place to our's. I remember the moment well; it caught her entirely off guard. She froze for a moment then leaned down and tore the comforter off the bed. We moved it over on the top of the car, that's when I knew we weren't fucking around with this.

Marion quickly went over and took her in her arms but Erica pushed her away. "Sell it or at least rent it out."

"No, it doesn't concern you at all."

"But it's always there, hanging over my head."

"It's not hanging over your head, it's accruing value for when the kids go to college. I'm not selling it and I'm not renting it out; it's a piece of my past and I'm keeping it."

"It's a port in your storm."

Marion laughed gaily and looked at me. "Some storm, eh?"

Erica doesn't like to be spurned. She was about to turn away again but evidently thought better of it and instead moved in and gave Marion a feeble hug.

"Why don't you get help, Erica. Seriously, just admit it and get help."

"I don't need help, I'm fine."

"OK you two, that's enough." I don't know how many times I've said that to them, dozens, more every year. I don't know that I agree with Marion. Erica doesn't have a problem, she's just different, she's been different from the first day I met her. If I was to put a diagnosis on it I'd say she's just a self-possessed workaholic. Marion thinks its more than that; she claims Erica has "rampant insecurities" and I agree, where we differ is that I think these insecurities come from the guilt of living a selfish life within the family while Marion thinks she is living a selfish life within the family due to her insecurities.

But she is a workaholic, that's been obvious from the time she started in on her doctorate — now she's well into a second. And she is pathologically selfish: the weekdays are entirely her own which she spends consumed by work and study; the weekends are for the kids. But it's more than that. She insists on sleeping alone; she still likes sex but it's most of the time with her fingers cuddling up to one of us, usually in bed when she needs a book break. And she's all but indifferent to everyone outside our walls. She doesn't spend any time with her parents any more or her brothers and beyond them there is no one.

That said, there's nothing wrong with her, quite the contrary, she is accelerating: she's a star at work, a growing star within the national city planning community — much in demand as a speaker and a resource; in fact, she's perceived as an attractive, healthy, mother of three who nails everything she touches. And that's true, but so is her pathological self-centred selfishness.

So why do I put up with it? And I do. Because of Marion, 59 year old Marion: I love the woman, like, love her ... not just the thought of her, like at first. No. Her. But it's complicated. Erica thinks its all about having a sensible, competent woman who will look after me. And she's right. Marion thinks she's just a useful diversion for me while my wife goes through difficult times. And she's certainly right about that. But its more: I think that she is the mother I've never had and the sex part is just a kind of mania to get close and hold her. No doubt I'm right about that.

I'm sure the parents and brothers and maybe a lot of others talk about us all the time behind our collective backs, but they've never talked to us about it. Ya, it was a little awkward at the beginning, but it isn't any more. Marion, like her mattress, is always here, a part of the family, a weird unspoken part, kind of like a live-in grandmother. But not.

We went for our walk, as we do pretty much every Saturday; she gets that look of determination and we get it done at the impressive speeds she insists on; then I will do the chores as she does the shopping; then she cooks as Erica puts the kids to bed; then after dinner Erica will go to bed, exhausted while we head out to transport ourselves ever upwards, tonight on the wings of Wagner.